Lonely and forgotten
by helloflyingturtle
Summary: Post Reichenbach, John forces himself to packs Sherlock's things, but he doesn't notice his guest.


John sighed as he slowly looked around the room, he'd done it. After three years of pain, of reminders, of not being able to sit in this room alone. This morning he'd woken up with resolve, determined to finally go through Sherlock's papers, his equipment and knick-knacks. Still scattered throughout the once bright and lively flat, as if waiting for their brilliant master to come home. It was painful, John had desperately held to the hope that the detective wasn't really dead, since the second his head had hit the sidewalk. But lately he knew, John could just feel the fact that Sherlock was never coming home.

"Damn it Sherlock, it's not fair. Why did you just leave me alone? I never even got my goodbye. You didn't even leave any information on what to do with all of this." The doctor motioned to the living room dotted with boxes, half filled and piled up.

He closed his eyes and leaned against the fireplace. John opened his eyes and saw the last item of Sherlock's, the skull, he just couldn't bring himself to put it away in some box. The doctor could still hear his friend telling him that he sometimes talked to the skull when he was stuck on a case. John took a deep breath, grabbed the memento and stuck it into a box, full of newspaper, at his feet. The man let out a deep breath, and stood up straight, like from his army days, and gave a nod to no one in particular. But something in him broke, something that he'd been holding in all day. John fell back against the mantle and slid down the wall, face in his hands.

"I miss you Sherlock, I'm so alone. I have Molly, Lestrade, , Mycroft, but I can't smile or laugh the same anymore. Do you know that they got me to go out to a restaurant the other day, and a man walked by playing a violin, he was tall and graceful like you were..." John took a shaky breath, "I ran out Sherlock, I ran here and fell on the front steps. I didn't want to move, I couldn't see any reason to. Mrs. Hudson found me, she got me inside somehow."

The man let out a choked cry, and slammed his fist down on the floor. "I'm broken Sherlock, broken and confused from what you did to me."

John set his face and stood on shaky legs, grabbing his cane. He had to get out, he rushed towards the door and glanced back at the empty chair. His gaze going right through the cloudy figure of a dark haired man, his long legs folded under him in the seat. As John closed the door behind him, Sherlock dropped his agonized face into his translucent hands.

"I'm sorry John, I tried, tried to protect you, but look what I did. I'm dead, and you're hurting and alone."

Sherlock had known he was dead when he saw his own body on the ground, and no one could see him. He had went to check on his brother, his landlady, Lestrade, Molly, and had spent some time wandering around. Because he knew he should, he had been drawn to go watch over John. But the detective didn't know if he could handle seeing how he had destroyed his friend. Possibly one of the worst parts was all the nights he'd sat by John's bed, and the doctor would toss and turn until he would sit up shouting Sherlock's name with tears in his eyes. The sad man raised his head at the turning of the door knob, and followed John with his eyes as he slowly walked over and dropped into the chair across from Sherlock.

"Not the longest walk John, you need to start going outside again. Please John?"

John lifted his eyes, looking around, thinking he heard a whispering noise. The detective across from him had long learned not to get his hopes up anymore, he'd been trying to get John to hear him for the past three years. That was the closest he'd gotten, but he kept trying. Except his time was running out, he couldn't stay forever, and the thought of leaving John scared him.

"Please John, I need you to hear me, I need you to know. I'm sorry John, I did everything so you could live, that's all that mattered to me. When I was up there looking at you, I knew I would die, you'd be hurt, but you'd be alive John. And I don't regret that I died for you, only that you're so hurt."

Sherlock's vision blurred suddenly, he panicked and fell towards John, who shivered.

"Sherlock?" John called out, immediately feeling foolish.

"John? I'm here, I'm right here John." Sherlock knelt in front of the doctor, his voice beginning to crack, "I miss you John, I do, I'm sorry, take care of Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, Mycroft, they can help you too John."

Sherlock knew he was being pulled away, his time was almost up.

"But most important, take care of yourself John, I want you to be okay, forget me if you need to. I don't regret dying for you John, you were the most important thing. You'll do so much good in your life."

John heard whispers, only making out some, and he thought he'd finally lost it.

The shimmering image of Sherlock Holmes began to fade, he reached out and touched John's chest.

"You were the only true friend I ever had John Watson, thank you, more than I can ever say. I will alway miss you, and I...I'll always love you."These were the last words he said, before he disappeared.

Those last words, "love you" were the only ones John understood clearly. He reached out his hand where Sherlock had been only moments before.

"Love you too" was all he murmured, but it was too late, Sherlock was gone, he wouldn't ever hear that confession.


End file.
